Peter's Second Battle
by Fastred of the North
Summary: How did Peter and Edmund Pevensie react to the disappearances of Aslan, Susan, and Lucy, and how exactly did the scenario leading up to the the great Battle of the Fords of Beruna play out? Read on for a likely sequence of events in this bookverse gapfiller for The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
1. Chapter 1: The Knight of Narnia

**A/N:** I am grateful to C.S. Lewis, without whose works on Narnia this story would not be possible.

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 **A/N:** The following chapters, three in all, are intended to be read following Chapter 16: "Deeper Magic from Before the Dawn of Time", of _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ , by C.S. Lewis.

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 **The Knight of Narnia**

And now you probably want to know what had been happening to Peter and Edmund and the Beavers and all the rest. Well before dawn, the camp was astir. ("Dawn is when your danger will be greatest," Aslan had said to Peter during the march the day before.)

The disappearance of Aslan was a sore blow to everyone's spirits, but no one could say that it had been completely unexpected, given his behavior the day before. "After all, he's not a tame lion," was the general mood after the first shock had worn off.

But more immediately puzzling than this, especially to Peter and Edmund, was the fact that Susan and Lucy were gone as well.

"Great Scott, Peter," exclaimed Edmund. "You don't suppose they could have gone off with Aslan somewhere?"

"We shan't know until we have asked those who were on duty last night," Peter replied with resignation as he slung his sword belt over his shoulder. Soon he and Edmund were approaching the Chief of the Sentries, a tough, serious-looking Black Dwarf.

"Good morning, gentlemen," the Dwarf greeted them with a slight bow of his head.

"Good morning," Peter and Edmund replied together.

"I don't suppose you have any news of our sisters?" Edmund asked.

"I was just going to tell your Honours that," replied the Dwarf. "It must have been nearly midnight when the roving sentry at the time woke me to say that Aslan had left the camp, and that the two Daughters of Eve had followed after him. They went in the direction of the Stone Table. It seemed to me that it was an arrangement of Aslan's, so I didn't wish to wake you young gentlemen, especially seeing as you would need all your rest before today's work and all. I'm sure I'm very sorry if I've done wrong."

"No, I guess it can't be helped," sighed Peter. "Nothing unusual during the night besides that, though?"

"No sir, nothing worth talking of," said the Dwarf. "We would have woken you, otherwise."

"Very well," said Peter. "Send word to the Chief Centaur to assemble the captains at the pavilion. Also, we shall break camp soon and cross the Fords to the far side."

The Dwarf left, and Peter stared for a moment out over the camp, full of creatures taking a hasty morsel or readying themselves for movement.

"Well, Ed, it looks as if we shall be on our own today," said Peter. "But I do wish Aslan and the girls were all here. In the meantime, though, we must do what we can on our own."

"Whatever you think is best, Peter," said Edmund steadily. "Wherever Aslan went, the girls will be safer there with him than we will be here shortly when _she_ comes."

The two boys took a moment to inspect one another's gear and weapons as well as they could by the light of the bright moon. Each boy had been outfitted the evening before with a padded gambeson jacket, a close-fitting leather cap, a waterskin, and a satchel for various small items. As for weapons, Peter bore his Gifts, and Edmund had a round shield that the Chief of the Sentries had lent him, as well as a sword given to him for his very own by the Chief of the Centaurs. Its blade was dark, but it shone with a pale edge. ("It was once called Gimluzagar by certain of the Men of this world, and its worth is greater than you know, Son of Adam," the Centaur had told him solemnly. "Bear it well!")

When this was done, the boys strode to the pavilion, where the chiefs of the various creatures, as well as the Beavers, awaited them around a wooden table.

Naturally the expressions on everyone's faces were sombre, not only because of the disappearance of Aslan and the girls, but also because of the deadly grim business before them. The Chief Centaur spoke first.

"Sons of Adam! Sir Peter Wolfsbane, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, and Master Edmund his brother, hear me! Aslan is gone from among us, and so our hope is lessened. But if I have not lost the foresight that is the gift of my people, then I will say this for your comfort:

 _Though woe and loss shall come,_

 _When evil shows its power,_

 _He will return at last,_

 _Though we know not the hour."_

"Then we must win that time for Him," said Peter with more stoutness than he felt.

"That's the spirit, Sir!" exclaimed one of Aslan's Leopards.

The Chief Centaur then said, "Master Edmund, having lately been an unwilling travelling companion of the Witch, can you provide any information which may prove useful to us in the battle ahead?"

Edmund thought uncertainly for a moment. Finally he spoke. "Her wand can turn multiple victims to stone at once, but I think it's only if they're touching one another. So, it might be a jolly good idea to take care that we don't get any closer than arm's length when she's near. Also, she may try to take my brother or me alive if she can."

" _Never_ ," said the Captains firmly together.

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This was the plan that they made: after they had broken camp (which was in fact already in progress, and proceeding quickly) and crossed to the far side, they would set up a defensive line facing southward across the Fords, where the fairly narrow crossing would help to offset the Witch's advantage in numbers. ("And unless the Witch has boats of which we know nothing, she _must_ cross here, whether she intends to retreat to her house or else to bring us to battle immediately, since the nearest ford westward of here lies many miles beyond her house," put in the Chief Centaur.)

Birds would be posted in the trees commanding the southern approaches to give advance warning of the enemy, and some of the Great Cats would be left lying in wait to harass the Witch's vanguard. Other birds would be tasked with watching to the north and west ("since we daren't assume that the Witch's whole force is with her," said the Chief Eagle).

But arrayed squarely behind the Ford itself would be Peter's main strength, consisting of a line of Fauns and Satyrs with spears and javelins in the centre, a group of Dwarf archers on each flank, and Talking Beasts such as Dogs, Bears, and Badgers in close support. Peter himself, along with the Chief Dwarfs, Aslan's Leopards, and the Bull with Man's Head (who was trying to convince the Leopards to let him carry the standard during the battle) would take up a position in the centre of the line.

It was the Chief of the Sentries who had the bright idea that they should hammer a series of sharpened stakes from the camp baggage into the ground in front of Peter's line, pointing at the direction of expected attack from across the Fords. "That way, you'll increase the number of unpleasant points confronting the enemy, and also it'll help disperse our troops a bit."

"And there's this too, your Honours," said the Chief Archer, an older Red Dwarf. "You'll want to keep a part of the army, maybe a third, in reserve, to either reinforce the main body, or else to act as a maneuver force, as needed. It should be made up of some of the swifter and fiercer creatures. I recommend leaving Master Edmund this responsibility. It wouldn't do to expose him to the full brunt of the Witch's hatred on the front line."

"No, it wouldn't," said Peter. With a sinking heart, Edmund nodded wordlessly.

It was decided that care for the wounded ("which I'd quite forgotten about," said Peter) would fall to the Master of Medicines (a grave middle-aged Faun) and Mrs. Beaver. The Dryads and Naiads would help with the ministrations, and several Fauns would be charged with transporting the badly hurt to the rear. Swift birds such as Falcons and Swallows would be employed as messengers, the Ravens would patrol the wood, and the Pelicans would be hid in the vegetation along the banks.

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When all was said and done, dawn finally broke in the sky to reveal Peter's forces (those in the open, at any rate) in their proper positions. Peter drew a deep breath to try to calm his thumping heart, and thought to himself that being responsible for others sometimes helped to take one's mind off of one's own difficulties. He looked to the right, and could barely contain a smile of amusement at the sight of Mr. Beaver making small circles in the air with his hatchet and trying to look very fierce indeed. Then a Robin flew up and landed on the rim of Peter's shield.

"Sir Peter!" he chirped in his thin, melodious voice. "They are coming!"

"How many?" Peter asked.

"More than we," replied the Bird. "There is no sign of the Witch yet."

"Sir Peter, now might be the time for your people to hear a good word from you," observed one of the Dwarf Chiefs.

"Of course," said Peter. He stepped out in front of the host and turned to face them. "Narnians, hear me!" he exclaimed. "I will not attempt to conceal from you that I feel utterly unworthy of the readiness and affection with which you have received me and mine as though we had not but lately made your acquaintance, being but travellers from a distant shore called to stand forth on behalf of this noble land in its hour of need. Yet my good brother and I will count ourselves fortunate to fight alongside you all this day, if by so doing we can be accounted, not only by the ancient customs and usages of the Royal House of Narnia, but also by the goodwill and approbation of its steadfast and loyal citizens, as worthy of the sacred duty that Aslan, Lord of Narnia, and Son of the Emperor beyond the Sea, has seen fit to soon entrust to us and to our well-beloved sisters. Let tyrants fear! Should we win this day, as I am confident we shall, by the blessings of the Lion (whose ways and whose counsels who can know?), shall there not be a rebirth of Truth, Justice, and Mercy across the land? Aslan to our aid!"

With that he drew forth his sword Rhindon and held it aloft, shining in the rays of light now pouring forth from the East. And the whole host, in all their voices and ways, shouted forth in answer, "Aslan to our aid!" And the standard of the King, red rampant Lion set in a circle of argent upon a field of blue, broke forth rippling in the golden dawn to greet the Sun.

A few moments later, it was time to be thinking of other things. From the woods south of the Ford came peculiar roars, screeches, and bellows, and Peter knew that his hidden Cats and predatory Birds had struck. But he knew that it would only be a brief check on the Witch's advance, and in any case, he had given his Cats and Birds orders to withdraw as soon as possible after the first stroke, before they found themselves overmastered.

He had not long to wait. Soon he could see his creatures (some bleeding and halt of foot or wing) withdrawing in bounds as they made their way back across the water, where the Pelicans now emerged to cover the retreat with their formidable wings and bills brandished at the hideous things who now emerged within full view of Peter's waiting army.

While Peter's forward forces made good their escape, the Witch's forces congregated a short distance from the water's edge. They were indeed a great multitude, and Peter could not help thinking that the old stories he had read of Minotaurs and Ogres might be true after all, in Narnia at any rate. But he was not allowed to go on thinking, for at that moment a channel began to open up in the crowd of horrible creatures. A tall and stately figure, clad all in white and silver, and wearing a crown of steel, strode forth with solemnity and dignity, and yet with power and menace. It was the Witch.

She advanced until she was within a pace or two of the water's edge, and there she halted. She did not yet raise her wand, but held it couched at her side. Her host spilled out behind and to the left and right of her. For a moment she regarded the array confronting her with cold disdain, and then at last she spoke, in a clear, ringing voice of challenge and command.

"Human vermin! Your doom has come upon you! Where is now your Great Cat?"

Of course everyone knew she meant Aslan, but no one spoke.

"I have slain him!" the Witch continued. "The fool! He set upon me by night, treacherous beast that he was, but I had the mastery! I slew him upon the Stone Table!"

A low murmur of dismay ran through the army of Peter. But the Chief Archer smiled grimly. "It's a lie, Sir," he said calmly to Peter. "A favourite trick of these Witches. Don't pay her any heed."

But Peter knew that many in the host were looking to him for a word or sign, and even though it was not likely that many of them believed the Witch, the sight of their commander losing heart might well be disastrous for the army.

And so Sir Peter Wolfsbane, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, answered forth, and it seemed to him that the words came unbidden to his lips: "How say you that he is slain? Though your power be great, and the reach of your malice be not short, even the Birds of the Air are not all idle or blind. They see much. Think you not that they would have brought us tidings, had you of a truth done this foul deed? Deceive us not with the imaginations of despair and darkness! Our Lord, the King of the Wood, is gone whither we not know not, but he is not a mere man or beast, that we should hold him accountable for his doings. Now, by the Great Song that Aslan sang into this fair land in the Deeps of Time, we shall not treat with you, nor with any other servant of Evil. Begone now, for I tell you that your reign is at an end, and your doom is at hand."

"Well said, Sir!" said the Bull with Man's Head, and many of Peter's army cheered.

But the Witch was filled with anger, and turning back to her creatures, she cried, "Silence them! Slay me the fools and traitors, but take the human creatures alive. They shall pay dearly for their impudence this day."

With that she let blow the brazen horns of her host, and hurled forward a great mass of her chief warriors across the stream. Overhead a storm of bats and vultures descended from the skies towards Peter's line, but they were met by a flurry of Eagles and other Birds of prey, even as the Dwarf archers nocked their arrows.

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When Edmund (who, if you remember, was still standing in reserve with the Centaurs, Unicorns, Deer, and other swift creatures) heard the Witch's declarations, he was seized to the heart with despair, and for the taking of breath he was at a loss. But when he heard Peter's defiant words, he took heart again, thinking that perhaps all hope was not yet gone, not if he and the others could do anything about it. Accordingly, he loosened his sword in its sheath and gave his leather cap a brief tug. The Chief Centaur looked down at him and put a firm yet gentle hand upon his shoulder.

"Courage, Master Edmund," said the noble creature. "We are all of us between the paws of the Lion, and we shall take the adventure that he sees fit to send us this day."

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 **A/N** : Peter is addressed as "Sir" by members of the army because he is a Knight, but Edmund is called "Master" (alternatively "mister") because he has not yet been knighted.

The giving of pre-battle speeches is a feature not only of Tolkien's and Lewis's stories, but also of classical Greco-Roman and medieval European literature.


	2. Chapter 2: The Fords of Beruna

**A/N:** I am grateful to C.S. Lewis, without whose works on Narnia this story would not be possible.

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 **T** **he Fords of Beruna**

And now we must go back to the scene at the River crossing. Peter hardly knew where to look, there were so many things happening at once. The Witch's first assault surged toward them with a great yelling and a splashing of water. The man-headed Bull beside him bellowed in excitement as he held Aslan's standard aloft. Many of the Fauns and Satyrs in front of Peter took a knee, bracing their long spears to receive the enemy, while others balanced javelins in their hands to throw from behind their crescent-shaped wicker shields. The Beasts beside Peter roared and howled in anticipation. The sky overhead filled with screeches and screams as wings, talons, teeth, and beaks tore at one another, and every so often an unfortunate combatant would come tumbling down to the ground.

The enemy began to slow in order to thread their way among the unforgiving sharp points of the stakes confronting them. Then the Dwarfs of Narnia loosed their arrows, and from either side of Peter's main line a hail of feathered shafts struck the enemy. Many fell, and others stopped to shield themselves. Peter's centre hurled javelins and rocks, further blunting and bruising the enemy's forward advance. The enemy began to turn tail.

"Now, cousins!" cried Peter, leaping forward with his companions, and with a rush the Talking Beasts of Narnia, Dogs and Bears and Boars and Badgers, followed after them, passing through the line of Fauns and Satyrs, emerging from the stake-points, and charging in among the wavering enemy, slaying and rending. Peter himself killed a great Wolf (he wondered in a flash if it was Maugrim's companion from two days ago), and his companions were equally victorious.

This was too much for the Witch's harried vanguard, and they (or rather, what was left of them) ran headlong back down the slope and back across the water, closely pursued by the Beasts. In the sky, the Witch's winged creatures were also in retreat. It was a wonderful sight.

But Peter could see that the Witch seemed to be already preparing a second attack, and that his charge was in danger of overextending itself. Already arrows were coming their way from the Witch's archers. "Halt!" he cried, and some of his party obeyed, stopping in mid-stream. But others continued driving on until they were almost upon the further shore.

"Call them back before they all get themselves killed," growled the Chief of the Sentries to his trumpeter. The Dwarf blew the signal for recall, but several of the Dogs, in their excited frenzy, fought on heedlessly, snapping at their retreating foemen.

And now the Witch herself stalked forward, followed closely by some of her most fearsome creatures.

Then a terrible thing happened. The Witch raised her wand and with a horrible utterance, turned the foremost Dog into a stone statue. Then two other Dogs met their leader's fate in quick succession, while the rest were driven aside by the Witch's warriors.

"Well I never - !" exclaimed Mr. Beaver in astonishment.

Peter himself stood aghast at this display of sorcery. It is no easy thing to be pitted against a foe who possesses such overwhelming powers. But he could not lose his head. For in less time than it takes to tell it, the remaining Dogs turned tail and fled howling back across the Fords to Peter's group.

Peter addressed them sternly. "How now, cousins! Why would you fight on, contrary to the signal that was given? Our loss is now the greater for it!"

The Dogs hung their heads.

"Well, let us set ourselves to the task at hand," said the Knight. "Resume your places behind the stakes with the other Beasts."

With that, the party wearily made their way back, slowly now because of the wounded among them, while the Talking Birds covered their retreat. They rejoined the main line, and readied themselves for the next great assault.

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And now we must go back and see how Edmund's company in the reserve had been getting on. He could see everything happening on the front lines, of course, and he anxiously wondered how it would all turn out. When the Witch's leading forces almost collided with Peter's line, Edmund thought that it looked vaguely like an oncoming crowd following a rugger match, but very much worse.

As they witnessed the repulse of the enemy's first attack, Edmund gave a sigh of relief, the Centaurs and other hooved creatures stamped impatiently, and the Birds irritably ruffled their feathers.

A Falcon swooped in low from the west, bearing straight for Peter's position. The Chief Centaur followed his flight with keen interest.

"That one will have news, I don't doubt," said he.

In a very few minutes, the Bird came winging back. He alighted in front of Edmund and the Centaur, giving a stiff bow.

"Masters, I bring grave tidings," he said in his peculiar raptor's speech. "We have seen another foul multitude hurrying from the west, following the line of the River. They will be be about two leagues from hence by now; they must not be allowed to take our army in the rear. Sir Peter wishes for you to deal with these newcomers before they reach this area. Now this second enemy host is not so great as the one yonder, but they still outnumber you by far. Speed, surprise, and violence will be your greatest friends."

"Tell this to Sir Peter," said the Centaur. "We shall divide our reserve in half; part shall stay here with Master Edmund, and part shall go with me into the wood. My force shall make as though it is retreating in disorder due northwards, and then when it is well out of sight in the wood, we shall make westward with all deliberate speed, keeping in sight of the river at all times. When we have travelled west for about half a mile, we will set up an ambush, facing southwards towards the river-line; when the enemy draws even with my position, then we will attack and drive them into the river.

"As to Sir Peter's own course of action," he continued, "I would have him deny the enemy the passage of the Fords for as long as possible. He may bend if he must, but break he shall not. And above all, he must hold his right wing against the River, for therein lies our best hope of preserving our army against the Lion's return."

"I shall tell him. May the Lion be with you!"

"And with you!"

With a burst of wings the Falcon launched himself into the air and hurtled down the slope.

"By your leave, Master Edmund," said the Chief Centaur when the Falcon had gone, "my counsel is that you remain here with the balance of our reserve, while I take with me the swiftest of our party to the said ambush. If our feathered cousins have seen aright, then we should soon make short work of the enemy's second force."

This arrangement was, on the whole, rather agreeable to Edmund, and he said so. Though he would have willingly gone with his friend the Centaur, he knew that he could not hope to match their pace through a dense wood.

"When we have selected the ones who are to go," said Edmund, "I think they should take care that their 'retreat' is screened by the ones who stay. We should extend our line a bit further to each side, and then slowly give back a few yards towards the treeline while your people make their movement."

"A wise plan," nodded the Centaur. "I shall leave those dispositions to you, Son of Adam. And I shall also leave my nephew Magnesius to assist you."

With that, he quickly arranged for the swiftest woodland creatures (deer, eagles, catamounts, and the like) to accompany him, along with some of the Centaurs.

The movements were completed, and several minutes after Edmund had halted with his party a few yards short of the trees, he could hear the sound of the Chief Centaur's group gradually dying away into the stillness of the forest behind him.

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Down at the Fords, meanwhile, Peter and his troops prepared for the Witch's next stroke. Arrows occasionally arced back and forth, but the Narnian Dwarfs wished to conserve the great majority of their shafts for the next concentrated attack, and their opposite numbers seemed to be of like mind.

In the sky, the story was much the same. An aerial observer would venture too close to the opposing line, and then be driven back with a screech of indignation from an opponent.

Behind the lines, Fauns helped the few hurt members of the army back to the care of the Dryads and Naiads, who stanched wounds and gave water to the sufferers.

The sun rose higher in the sky; Peter reckoned it be around ten o'clock. He suddenly felt thirsty, and turned to his companions.

"Drink water, while you can," he said, uncorking his waterskin. "I'm not keen on our dying of thirst in this sun."

Minutes ticked by. Then the enemy horns sounded again.

"Steady!" Peter shouted. His trumpets sounded the alert, and the Dwarfs nocked fresh arrows.

This assault was greater and fiercer, and it was preceded by a cloud of arrows from the enemy archers. The horrid creatures rushed up the slope, again taking losses, but the great bulk of them held on their way, determined to come to grips with Peter's troops. With a sickening cacophony of voices, a thundering of feet, a buffeting of wooden stakes, and a crashing of metal, full battle was joined once more. The enemy was still arcing arrows overhead into both friend and foe alike, forcing Peter's front-line troops to make a deadly choice between shielding themselves against the biting shafts or dealing with the foemen to their front. Some of Peter's Dwarfs were concentrating on exchanging arrow-flights with the Witch's bowmen, while others ignored the incoming darts and reserved their archery for the approaching hand-to-hand fighters. But their numbers were slowly dwindling, and the few Dwarfs who were left to Edmund's party had all come forward to replace Peter's losses. Some points in the line seemed dangerously thin, and many of the enemy had penetrated beyond the stakes to swirl in deadly strife with the followers of Aslan.

Peter and his companions rushed forward into the center of the front line, the standard of the Lion defiantly waving. The Bull with Man's Head who bore it dealt mighty strokes with a great axe in his off-hand, and Rhindon was put to good use in the hand of the Knight of Narnia. Mr. Beaver laid about him with reckless, hatchet-wielding ferocity, and the Dwarfs and Leopards fought like heroes.

Then the Bull with Man's Head stumbled in pain, and the Lion foundered, but only for a moment. For the Chief of the Dwarf Sentries immediately grasped the flagstaff and held it aloft again.

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The contest at last began to die down, and both sides withdrew several paces, exhausted. The space between the armies was littered with bodies, both living and dead, friend and foe mingled together. Peter's losses had been grievous, but the Witch's had been fearful. And yet the enemy was a great force still, if not quite as numerous.

"I don't know if we can sustain another one," said the Chief of the Sentries.

"We don't have a choice," said Peter a bit sharply. "The whole idea behind holding this Ford was to create a choke point at a water obstacle. What do you suggest we do?"

"Well, sir," said the Dwarf, "if you ask for my advice, I agree that continuing our choke point strategy is an excellent thing, but if, during the next attack, we are unable to hold the line, we must have a back-up plan in place. What if we were to keep the right flank anchored to the River like a door-hinge, but let the center slowly give way, and the left wing swing back until it's facing eastward, joining what's left of Master Edmund's reserve against the treeline? That way we're not all bunched together when the Witch decides to attack in person. We're probably in a pretty pickle either way, since wheeling the line backwards, and lengthening it, will simply spread it out and give the Witch's numbers an advantage in overcoming us all one by one, but I think that's a less chancy risk than us all being turned into a new set of stoneware for the Witch's collection. I should think that we all want to hold out for as long as possible in case Aslan shows up. In short, we will be trading space for time, sir."

Peter agreed to this, and tasked the Robin with telling Edmund to prepare to become the new left wing in case he saw Peter's line wheel back. Other messengers were sent down the line to pass the word to the chiefs of the creatures.

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And soon began the greatest assault yet. The Dwarfs of Narnia shot every shaft, and the Birds did their best, but the enemy was too strong. Foot by foot, yard by yard, Peter's army slowly gave way uphill, fighting all the while, while the Dwarfs who made up the right flank stubbornly held their ground, fighting with sword, axe, and mattock. Peter turned to shout to the Chief of the Sentries a few yards away, but saw that from boots to bannerstaff, he had been transformed into a grey statue.

The Witch was no longer spending the lives of her soldiers from a distance.


	3. Chapter 3: Deeds of Desperation

**A/N:** I am grateful to C.S. Lewis, without whose works on Narnia this story would not be possible.

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 **Deeds of Desperation**

The Witch had come among them.

Even now, Peter remembered to keep his head. The fate of the army might very well rest on his shoulders. Nearby was his chief trumpeter, fortunately unhurt.

"Fall back!" Peter shouted, and the trumpeter relayed the signal. In a ragged, disorderly tide, his troops trotted uphill. Here and there a warrior would turn and give battle; but the Witch strode in among them, her wand in one hand and a great black iron shield in the other, making quick work of many of Peter's stragglers.

While all this was happening, Peter and his few remaining companions at last stopped at a level area of ground.

"Halt!" he cried.

To either side of Peter, his line reformed and solidified, strengthening steadily as his troops came up and turned once more to face their enemies. Scores of statues were clustered about, but the Witch herself remained further down the slope at the front of her army, who had ceased their attack for the present, and were themselves gathering into a line opposite Peter's, but rather denser. The Witch seemed to be speaking to her creatures.

"They all seem to have crossed the River by now, Sir," said one of the Chief Leopards, looking up at Peter intently as though trying to read his face. "I imagine they're going to try and consolidate for the final push."

Peter simply nodded. Sweat trickled into his eyes, and he felt drained and weary. He blinked to clear the sting, looked behind him, and could now see the dressing area for the wounded being moved back several yards, along with the sufferers, who were by now rather numerous.

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Several minutes ticked by; the sun, which by now was at its highest point, beat relentlessly upon the worn-down army of Peter.

Then several things happened at once: a large group of the Witch's creatures rushed intently upon the small band of Dwarfs who still made up Peter's right wing; a line of the enemy hurled themselves upon Peter's center, while several bats and vultures swooped down; and a cry came from behind the Knight.

"Sir Peter!"

It was the Falcon.

He flew up from behind to perch on Peter's shield rim, and Peter found himself noticing (as one sometimes does notice these sorts of things during frenzied times) the yellow rings around the bird's eyes. But now one of the bird's feet had been mangled, and blood was oozing from a hole in his breast.

"Sir Peter!" the Falcon gasped. "Friend and foe together are coming from the west behind you! They are less than a quarter-mile distant!"

"Understood!" said Peter. "You've done enough! No more messages for you today!"

Even as the words left Peter's mouth, one of the Witch's vultures swooped low over them. With his dying strength, the Falcon launched himself bodily upwards, intercepting the carrion bird in a vicious battle of beaks and talons. They both tumbled earthwards, where Mr. Beaver was waiting with his hatchet. He dealt a swift blow to the Vulture's neck, killing it. But the Falcon was also gone.

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Peter shook his head to clear his thoughts, and quickly looked around to get his bearings. To his left was a dangerously thin line. In front the Witch's feint had been repulsed, but with additional losses on our side. He then saw with alarm that the right wing was practically destroyed, as a great many Dwarfs, with grim valour, had fallen where they stood.

And now Peter heard a new sound. From the northwest came a din of shrieking and a thunder of feet, and he swung his head sharply to see the source of the noise.

A great crowd of the enemy was streaming in from the west, along the northern river-bank. But now Peter could see that the swift woodland creatures from the returning reserve were hemming them along the passageway.

Have you ever seen a cattle drive from an old American Western film at the cinema? It was like that now with the approaching stampede of creatures, but instead of the lowing of cattle, imagine the yells and screeches, and instead of the whoops of the cowboys, imagine the shouts and cries of Peter's four-footed warriors as they struggled mightily to keep pace with the Witch's force and prevent it from spreading out to take Peter's main army in the rear.

There was no time to think. Above all, the line must be maintained.

"Steady! Steady! Hold the line!" Peter shouted hoarsely at the top of his voice.

By now, the Witch's creatures who had penetrated Peter's by-now-nonexistent right wing could see the panicked mob of their friends surging towards them, and imagined that the returned reserve of Peter's army were a whole second army of fresh arrivals. They turned and abandoned their just-won ground, tumbling headlong back down the slope.

The Witch's newly arrived western force rushed completely past Peter's astonished line, and held on their way until they came face to face with their Mistress, who stepped before their foremost and with a swift motion, turned him to stone.

"Stop, dogs!" she said with a voice of icy power that everyone on the battle-field heard.

Neither word nor deed went unheeded by her troops. They all stopped in their tracks. She then began to berate them with fearful threats.

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Meanwhile, Peter's returning troops found themselves places in the line, chiefly on the right. At Peter's direction, the majority of the Centaurs and Deer were posted on the left of the line, so as to form a maneuver element in case the Witch tried to outflank him. Peter himself stood in the front rank, in the centre, but closer to the right, which was made up of a few Dwarfs, Fauns, Dogs, and great Cats.

And now whatever the Witch had said to her troops must have had some effect, for with a roar, the enemy surged forward against the reconstituted right wing.

Body to body and shield to shield, they grappled and fought, tooth and claw, for what seemed minute upon minute. The right wing seemed in danger of being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the Witch's reinforced army.

Turning his attention back toward his front, Peter could see that the rest of the Witch's force was again advancing, slowly this time, step by step, towards his line.

Agonizingly he looked again towards his right; he briefly considered taking a hand in the right wing himself, but if he were to leave his command post now, how could he direct the battle, and moreover what would the army think?

Then Peter saw Edmund hurtling in from the left behind his line at a dead run, followed closely by several companions.

"Ed! Plug that hole!" Peter shouted, pointing with Rhindon to the awful gap. His brother rushed forward with a hoarse, unearthly yell, and gave a furious sword-stroke that felled the foremost of the enemy. The rest hung back uncertainly, which proved their undoing.

For with a horn-blast three Centaurs charged in, Magnesius at their head, and scattered the enemy's bold advance, then wheeled and returned to the line. But as Magnesius, who had been first in the charge and was now last in the retreat, turned his back to the foe, he was struck by an arrow to the neck, and thus yet another brave warrior was lost to Peter.

But the enemy had been driven back on the right, and the line was restored once more, and Peter's army, though in a much-reduced state, was now anchored at right angles to the Great River of Narnia, in a long northeast-by-southwest line.

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You may imagine the glad relief with which Peter greeted Edmund and some of the Captains a little behind their line. Their losses had been considerable, but it was a great thing to know that one's brother still stood unharmed. Edmund now told Peter something of events.

"I got your message about joining my line to yours whenever you fell back," said Edmund, still breathing somewhat hard, "and we did it, but then I looked to the right and saw that your river anchor-point was almost gone, so I thought that I needed to do something about it, don't you know? I was going to do it alone, but several of the others insisted on coming along."

"It was a wrench to let you do it, Ed, but you were on your way anyhow, and at that point, you were the nearest option," said Peter briskly. "Do you know what happened to that ambush?"

"I found out from one of the Birds," replied Edmund. "It didn't go the way it was supposed to, Peter. Apparently they sprang the trap too late, and it simply turned into a running chase along the riverbank. The main thing the Chief Centaur's troops were able to do was help to funnel them back towards the Witch's main army. He was hurt, but I don't know how badly."

"By Jove, Ed, I don't know how long we can sustain these losses," said Peter. "I want to think that Aslan is somewhere about, but he told me he could give me no promise of his being here."

"Well, he didn't say that he _wouldn't_ be here," Edmund replied. "And don't forget the Centaur's words from this morning."

"I haven't," said Peter, but his voice betrayed a bit of doubt.

"Still," he continued, forcing himself to sound more cheerful, "there's one upside to not having a reserve anymore: I shan't be needing to coordinate as many messages. And that's just as well, since we've lost a great many of our Birds."

"What think you of our chances, Sir?" asked an Eagle.

"If it weren't for the Witch herself," Peter replied in a low voice, "I would say we have better than even odds of winning this fight."

"Did your Honours notice how when our archers shot at the Witch herself, she moved quick as lightning to block the arrows with her shield?" pointed out the Chief Archer. "It's not canny, if you ask me."

"I told you Sons of Adam several days ago that she comes of an unnatural lineage," said Mr. Beaver with some measure of bitter satisfaction.

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Edmund paced slowly along the line, feeling a weariness of body and spirit such as is felt by a soldier who has done what duty asked, but who now knows that yet greater exertions will be demanded shortly.

All knew that this next attack by the Witch would likely be the last and greatest fight. Already the Witch's host was ominously advancing towards them, the Witch herself at their head. Her eyes flashed fiercely as she held her great arrow-riddled shield before her with her left hand, while with her right she grasped her infamous wand, pointing it menacingly at her enemies as she steadily and inexorably strode towards them. Her very bearing, demeanour, and gait exuded confidence and supreme faith in victory, final victory. _Her_ victory. Now was the time to secure the triumph that she had so boldly set her will upon, to reap the fruits of the success that she had accomplished in the flame-lit darkness of the Hill of the Stone Table during the hour of the great Lion's humiliation and defeat.

So deemed Jadis, the Queen of Queens and the Terror of Narnia. The upstart Sons of Adam may brazenly defy her, but they would learn at last to bow the knee to her. Before she extinguished their miserable existences.

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Edmund, watching the approach of the Witch, was aware of her piercing gaze fixed suddenly upon him, and, with an awful realization, found that he could read the thoughts that were bent upon his demise. It was not without effect that he had ridden at her feet, upon her sleigh, during the endless bitter hours, through the cold and the snow. The voice of the Queen of the North called out to him still, bidding him forsake his rebellion, and serve her once more, his true Sovereign. Indeed, as Edmund began to lose heart, he looked around him and saw that, in truth, the situation facing the army of Peter was now become almost desperate.

The Dwarfs were practically out of shafts. The healers were overtaxed with the many wounded members of the army. In places the line of Peter was but a single rank. The sun, which had begun to slowly sink in the sky, beat down upon the host, adding to their misery and suffering.

Surely Aslan could not have meant for them all to die or be taken prisoner like this? Would it really be so shameful for him to throw himself upon the Witch's mercy, or if not, to flee into the woods and save himself? Was it not his duty to live?

Such were the thoughts racing through Edmund's mind as he stood there in turmoil.

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And still the Witch's army closed the distance. They were now about an arrow-shot away ("and of _course_ we haven't any more arrows to shoot; not that they would do much good against Her," Edmund thought despairingly).

And then it happened.

"Edmund."

The voice was Peter's, and yet unlike Peter's. It was thick and weary, but what arrested Edmund's attention was the tender regard with which Peter spoke the name, and the look of affection in Peter's eyes. As Edmund met his brother's gaze, he knew that this was not the angry, bossy Peter Pevensie of the old days. This was Sir Peter Wolfsbane, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion, with his sword in his hand, his shield at his side, and the light of battle in his eyes.

Said Peter, "Dear brother, if it is the will of Aslan that we be slain today, I wish thee to know that I love thee, and never had any man a more faithful brother than thou art. I therefore forgive, so far as my power alloweth and thy needs require, any and all trespasses against me that were ever laid to thy charge, over and above any transgressions against our beloved sisters and me that we forgave thee of yesterday morn, in the name of Aslan and his great Father, the Emperor-Over-the-Sea."

Weary as he was, Edmund was brought close to tears. Peter had never addressed him so kindly and yet so fervently, and he knew now that Peter would die for him, if need be. By the grace of Aslan, he would do the same for Peter.

His confidence and faith thus restored, Edmund looked around at his comrades with a new perspective. The army of Peter stood solidly in their line, doggedly awaiting the inevitable. Everyone was very tired and looked to be feeling very out of sorts, and many had suffered greater or lesser wounds, but some even of the more grievously hurt had refused to quit the ranks, grimly insisting on staying and fighting to the bitter end, whenever that might be.

And the end did not seem as though it would be long in coming. The enemy was closing in fast upon them. Wordlessly Peter and Edmund shook hands.

"Stand fast, Narnians!" Peter cried. _"Fight!"_

And now the enemy was upon them.


	4. Chapter 4: The Queen's Revenge

**A/N:** I am grateful to C.S. Lewis, without whose works on Narnia this story would not be possible.

* * *

 **The Queen's Revenge**

The most extraordinary thing about it all, as Edmund said afterwards, was the noise. Roarings, cursings, shriekings, shoutings, screamings; teeth, claws, fists, bone, wood, leather, cloth, metal, stone; boots, helms, shields, swords, knives, spears, axes, clubs: all crashed together in a frenzied do-or-die struggle beyond reckoning. The sheer assault of all this storm upon the senses was simply frightful.

No longer was there any heed given to maintaining even a semblance of order. The struggle had devolved into a mass chaos of army against army. A collective madness seemed to have taken hold of Peter's dwindling force, and even some of the healers, concerned that their patients would soon be overrun, were snatching up abandoned weapons and rushing into the fight. Everywhere underfoot were the dead, dying, and injured. Creatures savagely bit, stabbed, choked, gouged, slashed, and beat one another. It was altogether a thoroughly confused, gory, awful affair.

And the Witch was dispatching her opponents with terrifying skill and efficiency. Nothing seemed to harm her, and she wielded wand and shield with fearsome ability. Indeed, though at the outset her multitude of creatures had already been more than a match for the army of Peter, the effect of Jadis, Queen of Queens, on the battle seemed very likely to make the outcome inevitable.

Peter could no longer give any direction to the others. He was fully in the thick of things himself. Indeed, there was nothing that could be done in any case, other than to sell one's life as dearly as possible. He was utterly determined that he should not be taken alive; there were some fates that were worse than death.

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The Faun Master of Medicines stared awestruck at the murderous maelstrom before him. He blinked to clear his eyes from the dust, sweat, and dirt, then turned to address his assistant.

"Mrs. Beaver," he implored solemnly, "Would you be so good as to take over from here? I think it is time that my remaining transporters and I took a hand in affairs. I think that the best way we can help these poor sufferers is to win this battle as quick as we can."

"It is time _one_ of us took a hand in things," replied the Beaver. "I shall do quite well with overseeing the nurses, and I daresay that just a few more healers-turned-fighters on our side won't matter all that much."

The Master of Medicines pretended to take no notice of this last remark. "Ho, lads!" he called. Three or four younger Fauns within earshot wearily trotted over. "You have your knives; I do believe it is time for us to do our bit."

The other Fauns looked dubiously at him, then at the fighting, then at one another, then back at their chief.

He looked each of them briefly in the eyes, then continued, "Our only chance is to rush at Her; she can't stop all of us."

With that, he turned towards the fight and, without looking back to see if the others were following, ran grimly downhill, a javelin in hand.

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Edmund struck desperate blows, hacking with sword and smashing with shield. Blood ran down his shield rim as well as his sword blade, lacing around his cross-guard and handle, and bathing his hand and arm in viscous flood. His senses were dulled, and he felt as though he were underwater; his hearing began to slowly alter, and the sounds of the combat about him began to muffle, as though coming from a great distance; his vision, meanwhile, began to narrow, as though he were staring through the opening of a dark tunnel towards a forlorn, otherworldly existence where no hope dwelled. He could see only enemies in front of him, but he no longer felt afraid or hopeful or sad or lonely. He could feel nothing at all except a dull, mechanical drive to clear a path through the adversaries about him.

A path that would lead him directly to the Witch.

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With a raw, anguished yell, Peter wrenched his sword from the body of the Minotaur he had slain. He straightened his exhausted torso, gasping for air, and looked around quickly. He saw to his surprise that he was standing on a low rise of the ground near the forest. There were no upright friends or foe nearby. But downhill the fighting still raged; it had now spread out over a large area, with no clear pattern save a steadily expanding crowd of statues dotting the field.

Statues that had once been living, breathing members of his loyal forces.

Breathing. It was a privilege Peter knew he could ill afford to spend over-long exercising. And as he regained his senses, he saw that four or five Fauns were rushing down to the battle from the direction of the injury station. He quickly noted that their line of movement was headed towards the Witch, who by now was becoming a focal point of the struggle, drawing in many of Peter's remaining troops by ones, twos, and even threes; heedless of Jadis's minions, they were rushing with suicidal bravery at the Queen herself, who skillfully dodged, blocked, sidestepped, weaved, and counterattacked with unstoppable force.

 _If_ _someone_ _could smash her rotten wand, that would be a deal of help_ , he thought _._ Then the thought hit him: _It is you, Sir Peter, who must lead the way._ Accordingly, having made up his mind, he began to run towards the Witch (who was at least an arrow-shot away) while still keeping a wary eye out for any enemies who might intercept him.

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Faster and faster the Master of Medicines raced, his followers' cloven hooves echoing behind him. An arrow whined just past his neck, and he heard one of his Fauns give a strangled cry, pierced by that very shaft, but he could not halt or look back, even now. What mattered now, more than ever, was speed.

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Aslan's twin Chief Leopards had fought side-by-side as one since the opening of the battle, but one now lay dying near the River, his blood oozing out in a remorseless rivulet to mingle with the water as it flowed ceaselessly over the stones of the Ford.

The remaining Royal Leopard brother seethed with feline fury, and, having bested the latest evil creature to assail him, now focused his amber-eyed rage on the very epitome of tyranny, Jadis the White Witch of the North. She stood but a short run and a leap away. _Now to time this such that she doesn't see me coming!_ he thought. He broke into a steady trot.

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Almost there! The Master of Medicines raised his javelin -

And immediately felt paralyzed in all his limbs. His body came to an abrupt stop, feeling a numbing loss of sensation throughout his body. As his insides turned to stone, with his remaining awareness he could hear and feel all of his breath being forced from his lungs in a horrible, rasping scream.

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All of Edmund's vision was filled with what seemed to be a wall of Ogres. Three of the brutes were coming at him at once. He punched out at the one in the middle with his shield, and dealt a clumsy sword-stroke at the one on the right.

But the left-most Ogre gave a savage punch with his club to Edmund's exposed left.

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Having thus eliminated the brazen Faun healer, the Witch turned upon his followers; one she stunned with a swing of her shield, and another she turned to stone with her wand. The last Faun, still a good distance away, turned and ran -

And found himself surrounded by a half dozen foes.

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The blow landed on his shoulder. Edmund staggered to the right, his left arm nervelessly dropping his shield. With a wild, angry heave he got to his feet and slashed wildly about with his good arm, felling one of the creatures.

Then the Ogre on the left roared in pain. The Chief Archer had stabbed him. "Go on, Master Edmund!" cried the Dwarf, before he was set upon by the remaining brute.

Edmund hurried on. The Witch was but a short distance away now. All he needed was one good swing.

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The Royal Leopard, giving the coughing, woodsaw-like roar peculiar to his kind, sprang full upon the Witch.

But in an instant she had her shield up to receive him, and all that he felt was a great surface of cold iron. Jadis slammed the Cat to the ground, extended her wand, and petrified him.

Then she saw the sword.

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For an instant, Edmund imagined that he saw fear and doubt in the Witch's eyes, which were fixed not on him, but on his sword Gimluzagar. She actually started to draw back, still keeping the wand extended, but it was too late; her split second of hesitation was her undoing.

With a desperate shout, Edmund brought his blade down in a sweeping arc. And as the star-wrought iron met the sorcerous crystalline gold, there was a blinding flash and a noise like a small explosion. Both sword and wand shattered into many molten fragments.

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Peter, still running in the Witch's direction, was amazed and awestruck to behold his brother's deed, and immediately shouted to all within hearing, "Narnia! Forward!"

Over the field, a new surge of hope infused the followers of Peter; they fought with renewed courage against the Witch's folk, who were now filled with doubt.

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But now the shock and fury on the face of the Witch were terrible to behold. She smashed her shield into Edmund's body, sending him tumbling to the ground like a rag doll. Dropping her now useless wand handle, she advanced upon Edmund's unmoving form, drawing her stone knife.

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Peter, now scarce ten paces away, witnessed his brother's fall, and immediately saw red. Raising his sword and shield high, he screamed at the top of his voice, fury and adrenaline surging through his entire being as he rushed upon his enemy.

For her part, Jadis smiled fiercely as she looked upon the elder Son of Adam, and she met his attack with lightning-fast reply of both knife and shield. Even so, she was hard put to it, for Sir Peter was become crazed and dangerous, and both knew that quarter would be neither asked for nor offered.

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Edmund slowly came to, lying on his back, his vision hazy; his body, especially his left shoulder, felt jarred and numb, and his innards felt as though they had been chewed and spat out. He felt cold and feverish, and wondered for a moment where he was.

Then he remembered. The battle was still raging nearby. With a supreme effort he rose to his knees. A wave of nausea and pain washed over him. Involuntarily he coughed, and stomach contents mixed with blood were vomited forth, running down the front of his jacket. He sat for a moment longer.

But now he heard a small voice inside his head, saying, _Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest._

Edmund gave himself a pained smile that looked more than half like a grimace. Nearby lay a spearhead with about three feet of shaft still attached. He grasped this makeshift weapon, using it to help himself stagger painfully to his feet. With cloudy vision he could see that the battle had indeed shifted away from him slightly, and had sorted itself into a more-or-less continuous front, with Peter and the Witch fighting in the centre. But Peter's troops were, on the whole, getting the worst of it; the Witch's forces were simply too many.

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Less than a fifth of Peter's army still stood upon the stricken field, even while their Knight fought the enemy's Queen as though engaged in some deadly chess match in the centre of the battle. Their numbers were steadily reduced; though they might make the enemy pay twice for every warrior lost, it was not enough. Most of Peter's captains, too, were down. Things looked altogether bleak, without hope of retrieval.

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Edmund reeled slowly forward on unsteady legs, making for the Witch again with spear-haft raised. Then a curved blade came at him from the side. Edmund thrust his weapon into the goblin-creature who wielded it, but at the same time the blade dealt Edmund's throat a vicious slash; a spreading mass of dark red blood descended from the vein, as Edmund, pushed to the limit of endurance, fell for the final time that day.

But even as he lost consciousness, he heard the greatest, wildest roar you can imagine.

 _Aslan!_ he thought as his world descended into blackness.

* * *

 **A/N:** At this point, dear reader, I encourage you to continue the narrative with Chapter 17: "What Happened About the Statues", of _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ by C.S. Lewis.


End file.
